


Against All Odds

by rsmills



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Hints of Substance (Alcohol) Abuse, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-12 02:33:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15985769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rsmills/pseuds/rsmills
Summary: Getting you back is against the odds.





	Against All Odds

**Author's Note:**

> Per the tags, this is a little different than my previous work but hopefully the ending will make up for it. 
> 
> This is set post-Paris.

**Title:** Against All Odds  
**Author:**  [](https://insix.livejournal.com/profile)[](https://insix.livejournal.com/) **insix**     
**Pairing:** Andy/Miranda  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Beta:**  [](https://sammalkorva.livejournal.com/profile)[](https://sammalkorva.livejournal.com/) **sammalkorva**   (ever so lovely and encouraging)  
**Genre:** Angst  
**Disclaimer:** _The Devil Wears Prada_ belongs to Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century Fox. I own nothing.

**Summary:** Getting you back is against the odds.

**A/N:** Based on Phil Collin’s song _Against All Odds_.  
**A/N2:** The time-line is loose fitting so the reader can give a name to whatever it is Miranda feels—because it is too short lived I wouldn’t classify it as depression but do feel free to see how such feelings apply to Miranda’s characterization ( **loose characterization** around the stream of consciousness of the character).

 

How could I just let you walk away? I keep asking myself and yet I, the one who answers to no one but to whom everyone answers, am unable to answer myself. One minute you are by my side, looking intently at me with those broken whiskey coloured pools; they were so attentive, so innocent and then you were gone. I saw the hurt in them just as you had seen the hurt in mine the night before. I pushed the pain aside, telling myself your naïveté would soon lessen; I believed you would stay. You sat so close to me in that car, I longed to touch you, to reach for your hand and cradle you in my arms. To protect you from all the evils that roamed around us, to protect you from me if it meant that that fear in your eyes would disappear.

My God, you looked so young, such a child. I guess that made me the Wicked Witch, ruining this perfect world for you. You saw me as the world saw me, I could tell by your trembling lips and tear-filled eyes that you did not want to believe it was true. You probably asked yourself, “What will she do to me?” but truth is ...Truth is I only feared your departure and the suffrage of my broken heart. I would never _ever_ do anything to hurt you. I longed to cradle you, rock you gently like the child you are. I longed to love you.

But I didn't. I couldn't. I watched myself break you; I saw your disgust and fear. That alone broke me. You were the only one who really knew me at all. My walls shattered the night before, my face contoured with sadness and pain, and yet you saw me. I saw tenderness and sympathy; that might have broken me a little more. And right then, I pushed you away. Kicked you in the gut, while I longed to hold you. I broke you.

So take a look at me now. There's just this empty space, there's nothing left here, just the memory of your face. Your beautiful face that haunts me night after night. Every night the bottle of brandy keeps me company, my faithful companion. My sole companion. I allow myself to mourn your loss, but you cannot lose what is not yours but in mind ...In my mind you were mine. And yet you left, opening my eyes and hitting me with the reality that you were never mine at all. If I had asked, would you have been mine? Would you have allowed me to cradle you, protect you, to love you?

I allow the tears to fall freely, the ones that still exist. They fall shamelessly, angrily and all I can do is let them. I’ve been avoiding the mirrors; they reflect how broken I am, they scream guilt. Is that what you see? Do you see the guilt I’ve felt during the past week?

Reality then hits harder once again. I am a fifty year old woman, powerful and feared. Alone and broken. Alone and broken and in love. Mourning your loss because I know you can do better. Because in the end I feared you would leave. They all always leave. What could you possibly want with me? I would not want me. And you coming back to me is against the odds and it's what I have to face. I wish I had made you turned around, turn around to see beg with my eyes because right then, I would have. I would have begged if you had seen me. There were, there _are_ , so many things I need to say to you and yet I am a coward. I sit in the dark, cradling an empty glass of brandy, curled in an awfully uncomfortable chair crying. It is not even noon yet. I am broken. I am ashamed.

The door bell rings and rings until the chime becomes too annoying for my intoxicated mind to ignore. I waltz to the foyer, recollecting myself, putting the Ice Queen together to whomever wishes to die on my front steps. The bastard rings the door bell again. I can feel a headache coming. I sigh, opening the door but halt before grabbing the frame for support.

“Andréa...” I whisper, afraid that if I speak too loudly you will suddenly disappear.

Your eyes are dull, you look sullen. I long to hold you. I can't breathe, as you can't seem to speak. You fidget but I can't seem to care. The smile you give me doesn't reach your eyes; it breaks me a little more. How I have wished to see one of your smiles, those that would blind anyone within a two mile radius. I have wished, prayed even, that you’d come back, begging for forgiveness—forgiveness that is not mine to give, but yours for _me_ to beg. My eyes roam over your body as I swallow a dry lump in my throat.

“Miranda, I…” _please don’t cry_ , I tell myself. “I can’t do this…”

“What?” My eyes widen, this wasn’t what I hoped to hear. In my head, you’d say _I was foolish, I’m sorry. I am so sorry I left. But I came back, I came back for you because I know it’s against the odds but there’s nothing I can do,_ you’d say.

Something on the other side of the street seems to capture your attention for a moment; you turn your lovely ivory face, a fat tear runs down your cheek and I want to wipe it away but all the sudden I am so angry. I’m angry at you for running away and angry at me for being the reason.

“I tried… I tried so hard and I couldn’t…” your voice trembles. “I couldn’t be that close to you anymore. It was too much and it began to hurt. I needed—no, I need to be close to you but I don’t know how. What you did to Nigel …I wanted to understand, I wanted to hurt for him, to console him but I couldn’t. All I could think about was how much I’d hate to be in his place and how if I stayed and if that happened to me, it’d break me—I think it would kill me Miranda …I would probably survive but I wouldn’t _live_  …not without knowing that all I can do is love you with every fiber of my being and not have you. I just …I can’t do this.”

My body has gone numb, my voice is inexistent. _You foolish girl_ , I want to scream. _Look at me, just look at me now_.

“Andréa,”

“Please don’t. I don’t think I can take it. I just needed to tell you because this week has killed me, Miranda. I don’t know how or why this happened but I love you. I _love_ you.”

Before I can stop myself I have descended the steps. My face is swollen and my head is aching from all that drinking but all I see is you. All I see is that lovely face that has haunted me for nights; that face that has made me cry more than I believe I could. That face that broke me like a strong wind upon a house of cards. I watch you for a second before holding your trembling face delicately with my shaking hands. My next breath mingles with yours as I touch my lips to yours, briefly at first, asking for permission. Lanky yet strong arms encircle my waist, asking for more. I kiss you again, and again; your tongue is warm and deliciously inviting. Our breaths begin to stagger, singing silent words until it is I (or is it you?) that breaks contact.

For the first time in a long time I see you. I see you and I see light. I feel myself mend, slowly, but the drunkenness comes from something other than booze, than remedies or work. No, this drunkenness comes from your taste, your smell, from you. I feel my heart might suddenly explode, because you’re here where you’re supposed to be. No begging, no needing but pure want. You want to be here and I want you here.

“I want you here,” I say aloud. “My God, I need you here Andréa. Please don’t leave.”

This time you smile a real, teary smile. Your hands are warm against my cold cheek but it warms me quickly. Your eyes are so full of love and passion, I want to tell you how beautiful you are, but for some reason I can’t. It isn’t enough. I want to tell you I love you but I feel the need to show you, rather than tell you.

“Please stay,” I plead one more time. “I need you here today. Stay tomorrow and perhaps the next day.”

It isn’t a question but you nod slowly, considering my words before your face lights up. _Beautiful_ , I think. I smile, finally. I take your hand, leading you up the steps I’d slid down to get to you, into the prison that kept me hostage whilst without you but that now keeps me safe with my heart and soul almost healed.

_It was against the odds, but you came back. I can’t possibly let you go._   



End file.
